Prospering Stranger
by Dock Runner
Summary: Minato meets Naruto in a city. I wrote this story for a class and my friends liked it so they suggested that I put it up, so I did. Minato and Naruto are not related here, they have no blood between them. This is my first story that I published and I hope you like it.


Prospering Stranger

The city of Prospère is a dangerous world built on lies, deceit, and blood. Where, only the strongest survive and watch as the weak die off. Where in order to succeed, one must deceive, steal, and fight one's way to the top of the metaphorical food chain and hopefully escape to the military in order to live a better life.

The city itself is built on the sides of a pair of train tracks and disperses in both directions for two miles each until there is nothing but wasteland as far as the eye can see. A market is built on the sides of the tracks where only the rich and the few people with a lucky and slight hand can buy food and other materials. These rich people are - as the older generation called it - the Gentry, but honestly, they're just - as everyone else calls them - kiss ups. They live in the ostentatious buildings closest to the tracks and follow the orders of the Crown to a capitol T; they literally act like dogs to the Crown – or as what we like to call him – the puppet of the council, King Minato. No one ever sees him anyway and therefore, he is inconsequential to everyone.

People like me are basically the scum of the city and are called vagabonds, whatever that is, by the kiss ups. Our occupation is basically made up of stealing whatever we can from the kiss ups and the merchants that come for a week once a month and ration whatever we can. All the while, we fight off the various soldiers that wander around and the occasional person that's on a "killing for food" spree and is most likely clinically insane. Now that I think about that, there weren't many this month, lucky month, and now I probably jinxed myself and sigh in despair for the upcoming month. With my luck, that crow on the trashcan is probably an omen of the vast amount of vexations that are to come, to me especially. Just great.

Low and behold, not two weeks later, I come back from ransacking an greedy kiss up and find a diminutive boy camped out in my "home", sleeping on my "bed". He had blonde hair, the common baggy, unkempt style of clothes, looked to be about nine years old, and had his head on an old duffel bag. Of course I did what anyone else would do, I dragged him off the bed and dropped him on the floor in a heap of fabric, bag, and boy. Of course the idiot boy throws a fit of anger at me while looking at me with sky blue eyes. It was refreshing for some peculiar reason. After calming him down, which took a fair amount of time, he explained his situation to me and fell asleep at the end. I could tell by the harried look on his face that he needed it. I picked him up – not hard at all –, laid him on the bed and left him to his repose. I had to think on what to do now that I couldn't leave the boy alone.

From what I could deduce from the little that he told me – mainly the dates and how he came here -, the boy was from an abusive household and suffered from beatings, neglect, and malnutrition before being abandoned on a train car to here. From the intonation in his voice and dignified air around him, he was most likely a noble, probably a child of the Uzumaki family. This whole situation is very troublesome.

Morning came and I just decided to keep the boy and guide him through life here, then see how it goes later on. The first thing I did was rid of his stupid fantasy of returning home. Escaping out of this city is a dangerous and impossible thing by itself, getting home is on a whole other level. All the foolish boy did was shake his head stubbornly and tell me that he was getting home. No idea as to why he would want to do that but I didn't ask.

The second thing I did was get him out of my "home" and showed him the unwritten rules to abide by and see how he reacted to the rest of the residents of this city. I expected him to be bewildered by the eccentric behavior of the people in the city, so imagine my surprise that the boy not only adapted to his situation, but also flourished in a way I have never seen before. This also reminded me that he was at an impressionable age. Oh well. I watched as he moved past the disgusting alleyways without a flinch. How he took the sneers directed to him by the kiss ups in stride. I watched how, when we stopped by a random gypsy looking for coins, he listened with rapt attention as the gypsy regaled the crowd with a story of dragons and warriors. He even chastised a huge, grown up man when he was carousing with his friends and I chuckled in amusement – for the first time in my twelve years living in this city if I may add. I waited for him when he stopped at the blacksmith's shop to stare at the gilded trinkets that he had on display.

The first time he showed a negative response to something was when he picked up a hat for a woman and she left, full with ingratitude and false dignity. After a bit of convincing, and the promise of a story, he acquiesced to not chasing after her and chastising her, which, although it would have been amusing, would have hurt him. As we walked away, I hinted that the only way to avoid dire consequences was to show the kiss ups a guise of a happy and helpful young boy. I watched later on as the man dragged the women into an alleyway before tuning back around and ignoring the noises of the nightly escapades of man and woman.

It was close to midnight by my estimation when we finally stole some bread, cheese, and water – and by we I meant I stole and he watched if the coast was clear. The shops stayed open all day and night because of the random people filtering from the trains that passed through the city. I'm surprised by the lack of incidents with the train, the gypsy storyteller not withstanding.

We settled in a corner and ate as I informed him of the various unspoken rules of how to act and what not to do in this city. To my endless amusement, I had to stop him from overfilling with the food and the fast rate at which he was consuming it. I had to remember the lack of food that he had before he came here. When we came back to "our home" as he called it, I ignored the pleasant feeling in my chest, he took out a notebook and pen from the duffel bag. I read a random book I found as he worked on something. I sneaked glances at him to make sure he wasn't doing anything he wasn't supposed to and smiled faintly at the fervent scribbles he made on his paper and the look of intense concentration on his face before returning to my book. A little later, he broke the silence between us with a shout of victory and showed me a paper with something drawn and written on it. Taking the notebook from him and tilting it in a way to see what was on it from the faint, light that came from the – useless – light bulb, I looked at it and almost approved of the laudable escape plan that he made of the two of us getting on a train and traveling to his home. I say "almost" because, when I reminded of the many guards between the two places, his eyes widened in realization and his head drooped with frustration. I laughed loudly, surprising my self immensely once again, before ruffling his hair and dragging him to me. I laid him down onto the "bed" and ordered him to sleep.

Once I was sure he was asleep, I opened his notebook and stared at the drawing for a long while, the faint smile from before not fading. This reminded me that he was an innocent boy and none of the depravity of the world outside his house had reached him yet. I mused this thought until I fell asleep, the stupid smile still there.

In the morning, I woke him calmly and had him get ready because our oh so venerable, note the heavy sarcasm that even the boy laughed at, mayor decided that he would grace us with his glorious, note some more of the heavy sarcasm, presence today. It was probably to say something corrupt to keep us brainwashed. Surprisingly, it was not only him, but also a military soldier, general something or other. My opinion, he was the harbinger for today. Once again, I was right. All men over the age of fourteen, excluding the kiss ups, were to be drafted in the war.

When the general and mayor stepped down from the podium, I found myself with my arms full with a nine-year-old boy. I said nothing as I held the shaking boy as his tears wet the shoulder of my shirt. When he finally spoke, it was when the soldier came to take me away. The boy told me that his name was Naruto. I stood up, kissed the crown of his head, set the boy – Naruto – down and, before I let go, I whispered to him.

"My name is Minato."

With no scruples, at least, I wished there to be none, I let myself be led away from Naruto. I couldn't help but look back and I saw tears falling from his eyes and his whole arm waving at me with such enthusiasm, I though it would fall out of his socket. I looked back forward, after giving a small wave back, with a sad smile and noticed tears falling out of my eyes. What an inopportune moment for Naruto to enter my life.

Even with all this corruption, hatred and unfairness of this world though, I am completely confident that my boy, Naruto, would prosper.


End file.
